


There's Always Tomorrow

by Feralious



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Codependency, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralious/pseuds/Feralious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd die without him, and yet he wonders why he just won't go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/gifts).



> Just wanted to write a little something to thank you for your gift. :) Although I actually wrote this after reading [One Last Tender Place](http://archiveofourown.org/works/676322) first.

_Won’t you leave them, leave them and come with me?_

It’s a question that burns in his mind, a question he knows he’ll never ask – a question he knows _he_ will never answer.

He has no illusions, no hope that James will ever tell him that he’s done, that he’s quitting, that he’ll go with him wherever he wants to go. Knows he won’t be his Vesper. Knows James will never let himself get that vulnerable again, set himself up for failure.

It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t been in this complicated mess of whatever it was they had together; he was wise enough to understand that. From what James had told him, Vesper had been the first and the last he’d ever love.

Well, he didn’t say it as such, but that was what he got from it, anyway. And he had no doubt he was right.

And he’d understood, of course he had; after all, he too had had his heart broken once before, that immense feeling of betrayal clawing its way inside where it had long since been lingering.

He had not loved M the way James had loved Vesper, the way he loved James now, but it had been a kind of love nevertheless.

He wondered what sort of love James felt for him, if any.

Maybe nothing at all.

At one point he had asked. Asked James if he loved him.

His answer had been completely expected.

Still, it had hurt.

“Don’t ask me that,” James had said. And so he’d refrained from asking ever again.

Just like he never asked him to leave MI6, knowing he wouldn’t; not for anyone, certainly not for _him_.

“I’m not her, James,” he’d once said; regretting saying it the second the look in his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched.

He hadn’t answered; had walked away as he always did when the subject came up. It was always the same way; and he always let him go, watched him shut himself inside the bedroom, knowing he’d turn to the bottle of scotch and the carton of cigarettes in his nightstand, facing his demons alone.

He knew this, and he never followed him in. He let him be. Chastised himself over mentioning her. But he’d become so _tired_ , so tired of adapting to James’ issues when he wouldn’t do the same for him; always walking away when reality became too harsh to deal with.

But still he let him, let him lose himself in the darkest corners of his mind; undoubtedly thinking back to the time he spent with _her_ , instead of thinking of the time he could spend with _him_.

James was all he had, and he clung to him like life had once clung to himself, knowing that without him, he would simply die. But if James kept pushing him – and he would – he feared that maybe in due time he would no longer be able to handle it.

He trusted James with his life, his darkest secrets, but being with him brought along a sense of isolation, of solitude.

He was back in his Chinese prison cell again, waiting for someone to reach out to him, save him from himself; waiting for help that he eventually realized would never come.

He had two choices now. Either he’d go in there or he’d leave.

But he wasn’t going to sit around and wait. Not anymore.

And so eventually he swung open the door, finding James sitting on the bed, back turned to him, room filled with smoke and the strong scent of alcohol, not acknowledging his presence in the slightest.

“James,” he said, not expecting an answer, but falling silent nevertheless as he walked over; sat on the bed, watching him.

What was he even doing. It’s not like anything would change.

For a few minutes they both just sat there, James smoking, bringing the bottle to his lips every now and then.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

At this he still didn’t respond; just allowed more smoke to spiral up to the ceiling. He didn’t see it, eyes fixed on his back, weary, so weary, feeling like just lying down and going to sleep forever.

Instead he asked him a question. Not any of the questions he’d long wanted to ask him; not a question he wanted to know the answer to.

“Why don’t you leave?” he asked him, asked his unmoving back, hands cold and numb on the bed; wanting to reach out for him, to hold him, be held by him, but he stayed his ground and merely awaited his response.

“What?” His voice was raw, hoarse; he saw his head jerk as though resisting the urge to turn around.

“We both know you’re not here to stay.” His voice was fading, close to a whisper, an intense fatigue coming over him.

“Do you want me to leave?” He still didn’t turn towards him; he imagined him staring down into his glass, fingers playing with his forgotten cigarette.

“I don’t know.” Like hell he didn’t know.

James knew, too.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“James…”

It took another minute, but eventually he turned around, looked at him.

Didn’t come closer.

“Well?” He sounded demanding, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice, but not nearly succeeding. He wasn’t even sure he really tried.

“Yes,” he said, exhausted, closing his eyes. _I want you to leave_.

 “Why?”

James had never been careful with his questions; never thought of what might happen if he asked the wrong one.

He looked back at him, finding his eyes locked on his.

“Because I will never be the one to leave.”

“Why should anyone be leaving?” His words were sharp, denying.

He shook his head. “You’re all I have, James, and yet I have nothing.”

James finally crawled over, put a hand on his knee, eyes hard and unreadable.

“You know I can’t leave you. You’d die. And I won’t be the one to kill you.”

In another time, he would’ve been; and even now, he wondered if maybe he already was.

“You should go,” he murmured, feeling sick to his stomach as he actually said the words, taking James’ hand and placing it down beside him on the bed.

James stood, completely quiet, throwing him one last look before he headed out the door. Somewhere in the distance the door to their apartment opened and closed, an absolute silence surrounding him.

 

He’d fallen asleep despite it all, the fears and doubts coursing through his body having drained him. It was a deep, dreamless slumber, one that he didn’t wake from until the night had passed and the day had advanced well into the afternoon.

When he woke, he noticed something was off. Became aware of the strong, possessive arm wrapped around him, the warm breathing in his neck.

He still didn’t know where they were going; if they were even going anywhere.

But in that moment he knew that if there was any chance for them, no matter how small, he’d take it.

He didn’t even care if he ended up destroying himself in the end.

James would always be worth the risk.


End file.
